


Simon Says

by therestlessleo



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Fanfiction, Oneshot, Parody, Short, lord of the flies - Freeform, lotf simon, shitpost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 00:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14580663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestlessleo/pseuds/therestlessleo
Summary: A retelling of Simon’s misfortune through his perspective with an awful sense of humor.





	Simon Says

Tangled in the branches was the grotesque sight of the deceased parachutist, and tangled further within this unsightly scene was the revelation that Simon sought and truly found. This was no beast, this was a man whose unfortunate death took him to a tree on a hill in the middle of an uncharted island, where no promises of a respectful burial were foreseeable. Simon already felt ill as ever, from watching his peers torture and kill a sow earlier, mounting her severed head on a stick sharpened at both ends as a morbid offering for this supposed beast; and having another fainting spell right at its base after his hallucinatory encounter with the Lord of the Flies, who taunted him and threatened that his end would be brought about by the hands of the other children. Oddly enough, there was an urgency found in the lifeless, vacant stare of the corpse, where Simon knew he had to make an effort to make this revelation known. No physical beast resided on the island the youth were stranded on, but the real beast was the violence and chaos hidden within them. And upon this realization, it was now Simon's duty to warn the others of the danger of themselves, or at least make an attempt to.

He took a few slow paces backward, keeping his weary eyes on the figure in the tree for a final time before turning heel, beginning his staggering trek down the mountainside. Simon was pale and weak; new blood dribbled down his nostrils over the crusted, browning blotches from before, and his head and heart were pounding. But despite his condition, he was determined, and further and further he carried on. "Must tell them, must let them know. If they don't know now, they'll never know at all," he panted to himself repeatedly like a broken record. Scrapes and bruises painted his arms and legs from stumbling into trees, and tripped over creepers and would become ensnared in them at points until he freed himself; but Simon had no cares, not for the obstacles of the jungle, not for his own crumbling state, but only for the salvation of the other boys. 

In the distance there was a commotion stirring, and as he descended further down the slope, it became increasingly louder until he could make out that it was the shouts and yells of the other boys. Before he could see them, he could hear their excited voices joined into an almost demonic chanting. "Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Spill his blood! Do him in!" didn't phase Simon, although it should have, if he wanted a better chance at survival. Struggling closer, he could start to see their silhouettes against a large blazing fire, running in a large circle around it in pursuit of one of their own, who ran on all fours like a wild pig. They jutted sharpened spears at him, careful enough to avoid striking him but done so with the ferocity as they might have when hunting their meat. The concept of interrupting this ritualistic game possibly resulting in violent repercussions against himself did not occur to Simon. His clear yet blind determination drove him right into them; he started to shout about the parachutist but yelped as he collided with the painted running bodies, suddenly finding himself in the center of their ring of madness. The circle was broken; fingers pointed at him accusingly while open mouths proclaimed that he was the true beast. "There is no beast! It's just a dead man on a hill!" Simon tried to shout over them once more, but to no avail. Their chanting continued, their spears raised, their ravenous gazes all fixed on the small, harmless figure, closing in on him. Intentions of any mercy were absent from their minds, only bloodlust. Seeing that none of these boys would lend an ear to his cause and he had a very high likelihood of dying, Simon turned his head to an imaginary camera as though he were on The Office, and spoke with a solemness, yet with a slight breaking as though he were about to cry: 

"All sufferings are good for the soul."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I’m new to this site and I haven’t written fanfiction in 5 millennia wow. Hope you enjoyed this, whatever it is.


End file.
